


Life Begins At Night

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Angst with a touch of fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Worm, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 02:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: The Number Man hasn't seen Contessa for two years, when she suddenly appears at his door in the middle of the night.





	Life Begins At Night

**Author's Note:**

> This started out funny and it turned to drama, I don't even know what happened.  
> Could be read as some sort of sequel/companion piece/whatever to Sunshower.

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

 

The Number Man squinted.

He wasn't wearing his glasses, Contessa noticed. It was impressive that he had been able to find his way to the door so quickly after she had knocked. Especially considering that, as his rather unflattering attire composed of an old grey t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants demonstrated, it was three in the morning and he probably had been fast asleep until a couple of minutes before. From what little she could see of his apartment from the doorway, the lights were still all out.

"Are you quoting Mark Twain?" He asked, after a few moments of silence.  
  
  


Contessa frowned. Was she?

The interesting thing about her power was that, while it provided her with the right steps in convenient, easy to follow order, it almost never supplied her with the reason why said actions would lead her to the desired goal.

 

She had spent nearly an hour glaring at the Number Man's apartment building from the other side of the street, exploring all the possible paths to find a nice way to say hello after more than two years since the last time they had seen each other. More than two years during which he must have thought her either dead or stranded away in some parallel version of Earth after all the portals had closed.

 

Her power had informed her that he would be angry, whether she lied and told him that _path to finding the Number Man_ had seventy-three steps one more complicated than the next, or she told the truth, admitting that after Gold Morning she had found herself sidetracked, her attention swayed elsewhere by matters of international importance, and that when she had finally been able to put her priorities in order, ten months had passed and she had yet to move the first step towards finding his new address.

Even worse, basing on past experiences, her power had also told her that he wouldn't directly accuse her, doing instead that thing where he spoke in one-word answers and kept averting his eyes because he was too proud to outright admit that he was upset. And that was something she couldn't risk.

 

So naturally, she had to find a way to avoid it. The best way to do so, according to the Path, was crashing at his house in the middle of the night and confusing him with impromptu literary references that for some unfathomable reason would convince him to listen to her. Then she could only hope he would, if not forgive her, at least understand where she was coming from.

 

"I think so." Contessa finally said.

 

The Number Man nodded, as if she had just given him a perfectly sensible answer. They stared at each other for a while, standing on the doorway, until the Number Man seemed to come to a decision.

 

"Do you want to come in?"

 

 

******

 

 

"It's nice here," Contessa commented, making a vague gesture with her hand that was meant to encompass the entirety of the small apartment.

 

"Thank you," the Number Man's voice was still rough with sleep, but he had regained his bearings and didn't seem to have much trouble processing her sudden, unexpected appearance. "I used to spend so much time at the office that my old house didn't really feel like home when I came back. One day I realised I couldn't stand staring at the empty rooms anymore, so just packed my things and decided to move somewhere else, start again from scratch."

 

And there they were.

Two grown adults - two parahumans who had survived the near end of the world, sitting at opposite sides of a small kitchen table in the middle of the night, making small talk because neither of them knew how to address the elephant in the room.

 

Contessa had barely touched the hot drink that had been offered her, too busy taking in every detail of the man sitting in front of her. Now that he had donned his glasses, brought a semblance of order in his hair and held a large cup of coffee in his hands, he looked a little more like the man she used to know. And she was... relieved? Had she postponed their meeting for months just because she was afraid to find out he had changed in her absence? Or had she been scared of not finding him at all, despite the fact that her power had assured her that he was still alive?

 

If the Number Man felt unnerved by it, he didn't show it. Rather, he let her watch him as he spoke, taking a few sips of his coffee between one sentence and the next.

 

"So, you're working with Teacher now."

 

"I needed to find a purpose, I suppose," she began. "With Scion defeated and the Doctor gone I spent some time deciding what to do next and I ended up jumping on the first train. It's just a temporary occupation."

 

"He's smart," the Number man remarked. "But too shortsighted to use you at your full potential."

 

"I know, that's why I agreed to work for him."

 

He smiled and Contessa found herself smiling in return. In that moment she felt _something_ in the pit of her stomach and no, she was pretty sure she wasn't sick. It was something else, something that she couldn't quite name, not even in her native language.

 

_I want to know what is it that I'm feeling._

The answer was somewhat confusing.

 

"I understand how you feel, though," the Number Man went on. "The need for a purpose. I can say I've been more or less lucky in that regard. For better or worse the world still revolves around money, so there's plenty of people asking for my expertise. Then I have the Harbinger clones, of course. I make sure to keep an eye on them, but it seems like they've reached the stage where they feel the need to do the exact opposite of everything I say."

 

Contessa would have lied if she had said she didn't find the mental image of her old colleague surrounded by a shouting horde of exact copies of his teenage self amusing. Well, only three of them were left after the battle against Jack Slash's clone army, but she was sure they were doing their very best to get on his nerves, if the dark shadows under the Number Man's eyes were anything to go by.

 

"Isn't it a bit strange, taking care of a younger version of yourself?"

 

The Number Man shrugged. "Someone has to do it. After having them around for two years I kind of got used to it, I guess."

 

Then, as if caught off guard by his own words, he suddenly fell silent. When he spoke up next, the tone of his voice had changed.

 

"You could have... I don't know, called. Left a message, just to say you were fine. I know it sounds stupid, but I was worried. And you're welcome to laugh at me because yes - I was worried for the person who gives the Endbringers a run for their money."

 

_It's irrational, and I hate it._

Contessa could almost hear him saying it.

 

Most people thought that being a Thinker meant emancipating yourself from all kinds of feelings and unwanted emotional responses that could interfere with the purely rational approach of your power. She had discovered in the worst of ways that it was not the case.

She had let herself fall into the trap of getting too attached to the first person that showed genuine interest and affection towards her, knowing full well that she would never be able to reciprocate. She couldn't trust herself not to disappear for weeks -maybe even months at a time, going wherever her current path brought her, and forgetting that somewhere, someone was worrying for her.

 

Contessa knew she had to say something, anything. She was about to turn to her power for assistance, when she had a second thought. Instead of concentrating on a question, she tried to push every question as far as she could in her mind. It suddenly seemed unfair to use it on him. To pick the right option, the one that was whispered into the ear as soon as she thought up a question, like she did with every other person she needed to gain information, help, or compliance from.

 

For the first time in years, Contessa found herself stumbling around her words.

 

"I... I wanted to, I really did. But whenever I thought about reaching out to you I felt like there was something more important I was supposed to be doing, even if I couldn't tell what it was. I still can't tell and it... frustrates me. I never worried about what would happen after Scion's death, I always thought there would be something else I would need to do, another big path I would need to follow, but maybe there isn't. Maybe I fulfilled my role and that's it." A short pause, then: " I'm sorry."

 

"I know." The Number Man still wasn't looking at her, which made it even harder to tell if he was angry with her, with himself or with the world at large for allowing them to come to this.

 

Contessa suppressed a sigh. She knew she could fix it. Just a carefully worded sentence or two and everything would go back as it was before; the two of them against the world, fighting back to back and having a drink to celebrate afterwards, sometimes sharing a laugh and sometimes not saying anything at all, just drawing some comfort from the other's presence.

 

And then... then what? Would she end up manipulating him into forgiving her again and again every time they had a disagreement? Was it worth it? Contessa knew the answer even without asking the Path: he didn't deserve it.

 

Leaving so soon after having found each other again was a difficult decision to make, but one she had to make nonetheless. Contessa had lost count of how many decisions she had taken solely because she had to in the past, this wouldn't be too different. She only had to convince herself that she wouldn't regret it, that she wouldn't miss him that much.

 

They both stood up almost in the same moment.

 

The Number Man took a deep breath, as if preparing to say something. But he never did. He just looked at her instead, struggling to find his words. Contessa's lips curled into a bitter smile. They were really made for each other, after all.

 

Before she could register what was happening, he moved closer and hugged her tight, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. Taken aback, Contessa did the only thing that, if she had to be honest with herself, had wanted to do ever since she saw him on the doorway.

 

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

**Author's Note:**

> Watch me as I blatantly ignore the events of Ward for the sake of my ships.


End file.
